


Gravel And Some Wine

by I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own



Series: Barduil [7]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Depression, ooop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 10:53:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4622628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own/pseuds/I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was far beyond believing this was still a dream, but he was so far from being at peace with that. In some ways, it would be easier if this were a dream. He’d gotten used to watching his dreams fade away, long ago. But this was different.</p><p>This was a nightmare he would never wake from.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gravel And Some Wine

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. So this started because I was thinking about how I sleep better on the floor than I do in a bed, as a result of cultural tradition stuff. And then on my hour long bus ride to Uni, I was thinking about how Bard probably also sleeps better on the floor because the fancy beds befitting a king are probably far too comfortable for him. And... and then things just got sad. And then got even sadder... oop. 
> 
> Also, I lost my freaking mind with Gin Wigmore lyrics. Tittle and last batch of lyrics from Black Sheep. First batch of lyrics are from Nothing to No One. Second batch are from I Will love you.

_Yeah, I bleed just like everyone_  
_But I feed off a different drug._  
 _I’m built all of broken bone_  
 _I’m nothing to one._

It had started in Dale, shortly after the rebuilding had begun, and Bard and his family had been moved into one of the nicer of the rebuilt houses. They even had nice furniture, some of which Bard had yet to find out the purpose of, though he was certain some of the more expensive looking items were purely for decoration. It all went right over his head.

He'd find himself tossing and turning in his far too comfortable bed in the middle of the night, and no matter how hard he tried to just endure it, he could not. One particular night, his fussing grew so much he fell from the bed, landing with a solid thump on the floor, and there he stayed. Lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He felt himself begin to relax almost instantly, he knew he should try to get up, get back in bed, but he could not find the will to. So he stayed, and sleep was quick to claim him.

* * *

When he woke in the morning, he was well rested in a way he had not been since before what they'd all taken to calling the Battle of Five Armies. He spent a good few minutes simply staring up at the ceiling, watching the shadows cast upon it through the window. He felt relaxed, for the first time in a long time. He sighed happily and slowly rose to get ready for the day.

And so it went, on nights where no matter how much he tossed and turned he could not get comfortable, he'd drag his blanket with him onto the floor, and sleep. Comfort did not mean to Bard what it meant to other people.

And these nights only increased when he began his relationship with Thranduil and he stayed in the elfking's halls.

* * *

Things like this didn’t happen to people like him. People like him didn’t wake up one morning a bargeman, and be king by the time the sun rose the next morn. People like him didn’t get to court kings. People like him didn’t get invited to the beds of kings. People like him didn’t have balls thrown in his honour. People like him just didn’t get a life like the one he was currently living. Luxury and comfort and things he never dreamed of even seeing, let alone owning. Things like this just didn’t happen to people like him.

He sighed heavily, it becoming almost a growl in his throat as he glared up at the ceiling of Thranduil’s bedchamber, of _their_ bedchamber. He sighed again, glancing over to his lover, relieved to find him still sleeping, he slipped from the bed and distanced himself from it, so if Thranduil rose later he wouldn’t trip over him. He smiled and lay down on the floor, tucked away in the corner of the room, and sighed in relief, feeling his body relaxing almost instantly, despite the slight chill of the floor. Sleep rose up to claim him, and he did not fight.

* * *

Bard woke warm and snuggled up against something solid, he frowned and opened his eyes to find himself tucked up in Thranduil’s side under the blankets of Thranduil’s be- no, it was _their_ bed now.

“Good morning, meleth.” Thranduil murmured at him, voice sleepy. Bard smiled, putting his unease aside and shifting so his head was pillowed on Thranduil’s chest, so he could listen to the elf’s strong heartbeat.

“Morning, love.” Bard rumbled, stretching out slightly then snuggling into Thranduil again. Thranduil laughed, and ran his fingers through Bard’s hair.

“As comfortable as I am, we are due in a meeting in half an hour.”

“No.”

“Yes.” Thranduil replied, smiling. “Come along, meleth.” Bard sighed heavily, and pushed himself up, dragging himself from the bed. Thranduil laughing all the while. “You’re like a petulant child.”

“A petulant child who is already out of bed, unlike _someone.”_ Bard retorted, looking pointedly at Thranduil, who chuckled and climbed from the bed.

“Happy?”

“No.” Bard grumbled, turning to lay out his clothes for the day. “But I’ll survive.”

* * *

It happened frequently when Bard stayed with Thranduil in his halls. It was like, no matter how hard he tried to tell himself that this was his life now, he just couldn’t get comfortable living it. For every night he slept on the floor, morning would find him waking in the bed, tucked up against Thranduil, and he couldn’t work out if he loved it or hated it.

He was far beyond believing this was still a dream, but he was so far from being at peace with that. In some ways, it would be easier if this were a dream. He’d gotten used to watching his dreams fade away, long ago. But this was different.

This was a nightmare he would never wake from.

* * *

His clothing scratched at him, made his skin crawl. He was always too hot or too cold, never just right, never like he used to be. He ate like the king he now was, instead of the peasant he used to be. He had people to wait on him hand and foot, and all he wanted was the chance to do things for himself like he used to. Forty years of looking out for himself, and now he wasn’t allowed to even do that. It was driving him mad.

Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.

* * *

Bard was not the only one feeling out of place. He was slow to notice it, but his children could not hide their discomfort as well as he could. It started small, Tilda refusing to wear the beautiful gowns Thranduil had had made for her, and it grew, and grew, and grew. Until Sigrid started abandoning her new duties and running off to cause mischief with some of the dwarves, and Bain started taking his hunting gear and disappearing into the forest for hours on end. Bard dreaded the day Tilda started running away from it all.

 _I’m so sorry._ Bard wanted to tell them, _this is the life your mother and I could only ever have dreamed of for you. And it is nothing like what I thought it would be._

And it only ever seemed to get worse.

* * *

Bard wished, not for the first time, that he could run away from his duties like his children could. But they were still young, it was understandable that they would resent the burdens placed upon them. But Bard was an adult, and he was king, and he could not run from this. So he endured the scratchy, uncomfortable clothing that made his skin burn, _crawl_ , ** _f_ _reeze_**. And he endured the meetings that made him want to tear his own eyes out from boredom. He survived the feasts and the parties and the merrymaking. And every few nights, he would lay himself down on the hard, cold floor, and he would finally be comfortable as he allowed sleep to claim him. It was the only comfort he could find in this new life.

* * *

“Da?” Tilda asked, voice quiet as she appeared at his side while he was signing paperwork. She’d gotten quieter and quieter in the last few months, and it broke Bard’s heart.

“Yeah, darlin’?” he asked, turning to her and smiling. He always had a smile for his children, no matter what.

“Do you remember when you said you didn’t want to be king? And Thranduil and Dain said you had to make a choice?” Tilda asked, scooting closer, her beautiful gown covered in dirt and tree sap. Tilda had long ago taken to compromising and wearing the beautiful gowns, but they could never be worn more than once. Bard’s smile softened and he scooped her up into his lap, where she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Of course I remember that, darlin’, why do you ask?”

“Do you think you chose right?” she asked, big eyes staring into his own. _I think you chose wrong._ She didn’t need to say, it was written all over her face.

“Sometimes, darlin’.” He answered, smile turning sad. “But sometimes life is like that. And things that- things that make you happy can sometimes make you sad.”

“You said if you didn’t become king, we could leave. Not go back to Lake Town, but go somewhere like it?”

“Yes, I remember.” Bard said, frowning.

“Can we still do that?” Bard sighed and closed his eyes, his heart aching in his chest.

“I’m sorry, darlin’.” He answered, Tilda smiled sadly and nodded her head.

“That’s okay.” She answered, Bard opened his eyes to look at her, seeing the sadness swimming in her once young, bright and beautiful eyes. “I was just being silly. It’s alright.” She said, pulling away from Bard, and jumping down from his lap. He reached for her, but she moved out of range, and he gripped thin air instead. “Good luck with your paperwork, da.” She told him, vanishing out the door. Bard stared after her for a long time, tears burning his eyes. Something in him broke, and he buried his head in his hands and cried.

The hard part isn’t making the decision, it is living with it.

* * *

Later, when Bard was lying awake on the floor of his and Thranduil’s bedroom in Dale, thinking about his conversation with Tilda, he heard Thranduil shift in the bed, and then leave it. Walking towards him.

“Thran.” He whispered, slightly startling the elf.

“Bard? I thought you were asleep.” Thranduil murmured, sitting down beside him. “Come back to bed.”

“No.” Bard answered with a sigh. “I don’t want to.”

“Bard?” Thranduil asked, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s right?” Bard asked, his eyes burning with tears as he ran his hands through his hair. Thranduil frowned now, his concern only growing.

“Bard, please, talk to me.” He pleaded, Bard gave a watery little smile and bit his lip.

“It’s just-“ Bard sighed and shook his head, his hair getting mussed by the floor. “Never mind.”

“No, Bard, tell me.” Thranduil said, shifting so he could lift Bard’s head into his lap.

“It’s just, good things, wonderful things, they don’t happen to people like me.” Bard whispered, avoiding Thranduil’s eyes.

“People like you?” Thranduil pushed, when Bard fell silent.

“A bargeman. A peasant. A man from the gutter. Things like these past few months, they just don’t happen to people like me.”

“Bard?”

“It’s just not me.” Bard said, sighing, feeling more exhausted than he ever had ferrying barrels up and down the river. “I don’t like the fancy clothes, I don’t like the fancy parties, I don’t like the fancy beds, I don’t like the boring meetings, and I don’t like the petty squabbles. I just don’t like it. I would be content to live out on the lake, freezing, and not knowing where the next meal was coming from. I would be more than content.”

“Ba-“ Bard cut Thranduil off with a broken little laugh.

“My children, they would smile. I would see them smile again. We didn’t have much. But what we did have was precious. We had each other. And it was enough. But now? Now, my daughter comes to me and she asks me if I made the right decision. She comes to me and she asks if we can run away. And I can tell her nothing but ‘I’m sorry’, and it does _nothing_. My children, they run from the life I have thrust upon them. I thought I was doing it for them, I thought if I became king I could give them everything they wanted. Everything they would have never had before. But I was so wrong.”

“Why didn’t you tell me of this?”

“Because you’re so happy, and you’re so content, and you are more than I could ever have dreamed for. And I can’t give up one without the other.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You are a king, Thranduil. And if I am not a king, I am nothing, and kings do not marry nothings.”

“Oh Bard.” Thranduil breathed, resting Bard’s head back down on the floor, and then lying down beside him, pulling Bard against him. “I would marry you were you a beggar on the streets. I didn’t fall in love with a king. I fell in love with a bargeman.”

“The man you fell in love with hasn’t been a bargeman for a very long time, now.”

“I know. You’ve been slipping away from me. And I think I made things worse by trying to cling onto you tighter, didn’t I?” Thranduil asked, a frown on his face.

“Perhaps.” Bard answered, sighing, rolling so he could wrap his arms around Thranduil. “This life, it could be everything I want. But it’s not.”

“So make it everything you want.”

“Thran-“

“I’m serious, Bard. You’re a king now. If the world is not to your liking, change it. If you aren’t happy with the expectations set by your people, ignore them. You are king. You lead, the people follow. If you are not comfortable in your own skin, eventually they will not be either. This is probably as new to them as it is to you. Stop following. Lead.” Thranduil told him, voice firm, yet gentle.

“Easier said than done.” Bard scoffed, earning a smile from Thranduil.

“Of course. Nothing is ever easy when you’re the one in charge.”

“So I have begun to understand.” Bard answered, resting his forehead against Thranduil’s and closing his eyes, sharing Thranduil’s breaths with his own.

“Bard?” Thranduil asked, before Bard could fall asleep. “What’s wrong with the children?”

“They no longer feel like they know themselves.” Bard answered, voice quiet as sleep began to creep in on him. “They were born the poor children of a poor bargeman, and now they are royalty. They find no comfort in fancy clothing, or expensive weaponry. They find no peace in big, luxurious looking beds. I’m losing them.” Bard mumbled, his words slurring together slightly, before his breathing evened out in sleep.

Thranduil frowned, watching his lover sleeping, thoughts racing through his mind. Before tonight, he would have picked Bard up and carried him back to bed. But no longer. Instead, he was content to lay on the floor beside his lover and try to think of some way to fix the mess they now found themselves in.

* * *

 _Give me a lifetime_  
_And then 50 more to find the words_  
_That will explain_  
_How I need you, how I see you  
_ _How you are everything that I have._

Thranduil woke early the next morning, Bard still resting beside him. He smiled, and leaned forward to give Bard a soft kiss on his lips, before carefully untangling himself from Bard’s arms, and quietly getting changed, slipping from the room.

There was a lot he needed to do before Bard woke, and much he need to do after. What better place to start than with the children? Thranduil smiled as he headed downstairs to see if any of them were awake.

* * *

Thranduil found Tilda slumped over a book at the dining table, somehow she’d already managed to get a stain on the beautiful gown she was wearing. Thranduil decided he wouldn’t ask as he came to sit beside her at the table.

“Tilda?” he asked, voice soft, she jumped slightly and turned to look at him, smiling lightly when she saw him.

“Hello, ada.” She said quietly, and for the very first time Thranduil could see what Bard had meant about the children. He kicked himself for being so oblivious.

“Your father mentioned you weren’t happy here.” He said, deciding to beat himself up about this later. Tilda frowned, and closed her book, sitting up straighter in her chair.

“I’m happy.” She replied, before her frown deepened and she looked away slightly in thought. “Sometimes. I always dreamed of being a princess.” She admitted, her fingers picking at the corner of the book cover. She blushed slightly, and Thranduil raised an eyebrow. “Da used to make up stories for me about the elves. Sometimes, I think they were true stories. He used to tell me about a handsome and beautiful elven prince, named for the forest of his birth. I used to imagine this prince coming for me when I was of age, and taking me away. I’d become a beautiful princess and live with elves forever.” She said, smiling ruefully. Thranduil smiled softly and nodded his head.

“And being a princess and living among the elves is not all you thought it would be?” he asked, receiving a nod. He decided to ignore the description matching Legolas, and bring it up with Bard at a later time.

“Sometimes, it’s great, and I love it. But mostly I just- I’d give it all up if it meant I could go back to Lake Town. If it meant Da could smile without looking so sad all the time. If it meant Sigrid would be responsible again, if it meant Bain wouldn’t keep disappearing and not telling anyone where he was going. If I could just wear what I wanted, and not what makes me look _pretty._ I don’t want to be _pretty,_ ada. We could never _afford_ **_pretty_**. We could never afford _anything_.”

“I’m sorry, Tilda, for my part in this.” Thranduil told her, devastated to have played such a big role in the heartbreak his second family now faced.

“It’s not your fault. You just want to help us. That’s not a bad thing, ada. Just, sometimes people don’t need help, or want it.”

“I know. But I think I need your help now.” He admitted, smiling when Tilda’s eyes seemed to light up slightly at the prospect of helping someone, especially her ada. “Your father can’t step down as king, Tilda. But he can be a comfortable king. I need you and your siblings to help me set things right.”

“How can we help, ada?” Tilda asked, a lightness to her that had not been present for some time now. Its sudden presence highlighting its previous absence, and Thranduil truly couldn’t believe he missed it.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

* * *

 _Making my own road_  
_Out of gravel and some wine_  
_And if I have to fall  
_ _Then it won't be in your line_

Bard wakes slowly, to find the sun high in the sky, and Thranduil nowhere to be found. He sighed and pushed himself to his feet, changing and heading out. The house was empty, something that hadn’t surprised him for many months now. It was a constant state of affairs. But Tilda, at least, normally left a letter saying where she was going and where she thought her siblings were. But there was no such letter today. Bard frowned, remembering Tilda’s comment the day before about leaving. But she wouldn’t do that, would she?

He was just about to start searching for Tilda, when the front door opened and Thranduil walked in, followed by all three of Bard’s children. The lot of them were laughing, and carrying bundles of clothing in their arms.

“Uh, hello.” Bard greeted, when it was clear they had no noticed him. They jumped slightly turning to him, and Bard couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face at the light that was in his children’s eyes. “What’s all this?” he asked, Tilda bounced towards him.

“I’ve got your coat, da” she proclaimed, pulling a very familiar item of clothing from her bundle and holding it up to him. He smiled at her and took the coat into his hands, hugging it to his chest.

“Is there any reason for-“

“Just because we have money now, doesn’t mean we have to show it off.” Tilda informed him, throwing one of his old shirts and pants at him. His eyes widened as he caught them, and he looked from Tilda to Thranduil and back again.

“But we-“

“We set the example for the people, da.” Bain told him, looking far more comfortable than Bard remembered seeing him for some time, and it was then that he noticed that Bain and the girls were wearing the clothing they’d salvaged from Lake Town all those months ago.

“You can wear whatever you want, da. You’re king.” Sigrid said, grinning widely. “We can all wear whatever we want.” And with that, she rushed past him and up the stairs to the bedrooms, her siblings following shortly after until it was Thranduil and Bard alone. Bard turned to Thranduil slowly, an eyebrow raised.

“I trust you are behind this.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Thranduil replied, though he couldn’t quite hide his smile. “But, yes.” He conceded, Bard laughed and shook his head.

“But you’ve been all for the elegant clothing, and looking the part.” Bard said, sobering quickly. 

“And I was wrong. I was raised a Prince, and before that, a Lord’s child. Nobility is part of my blood, part of my being, and part of my upbringing. But it is not yours, I fear. Nor is it your children’s. Perhaps it will be your children’s children’s. I should have realized that, and let you make your own decisions about the type of king you would be. I’m sorry, Bard.”

“It’s not your fault.” Bard answered, sighing. “I was so willing to let you dictate what we should do, because the truth is, I have no idea what it means to be a king. And you’ve been a king for 3000 years. How can I- even Dain was a Lord before he became King. I was a _bargeman._ We move in the same circles now, but we didn’t always. And these circles are your stomping ground. I was willing to follow your lead, because I didn’t know what else to do.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Thranduil said, sincerely. “I was trying to shape you into something you could not be. The truth is, Bard, no one can tell you how to be king, and normally no one wants to. Do what your heart and your mind think are right, I am sure they will not lead you astray.”

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure. Now give us a kiss.” Thranduil said, smiling when Bard started laughing.

“My demanding lover.”

“I’ve been a king for too long, I’m used to getting what I want.” Thranduil replied, pouting when Bard kept his distance.

“Well, we might just have to break you of that habit, mightn’t we?”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Thranduil exclaimed, eyes narrowing.

“Mayhap I would. I don’t know what type of king I am yet, but maybe I’m one who likes thwarting you.”

“Bard.” Thranduil said, eyes narrowing.

“Catch me and you might get your kiss.” Bard called, before dashing past Thranduil and out into the city.

“Bard!” Thranduil yelled after him, before giving chase. “Get back here! You owe me a kiss!”

Bard laughed as he ran through the streets of Dale, feeling more light and free than he had since coming here.

Things finally seemed to be coming up Bard.

* * *

It wasn’t an instant cure. Simply giving them back their old clothes and telling them they could be who they wanted to be wasn’t a cure. There were days where Bard would still move himself to the floor, only Thranduil would now join him on some of those nights, rather than returning him to bed. There were still days where Bain would disappear into the forest for hours on end. There were days where Sigrid would be seen disappearing into Erebor, and Tilda would be running around in tattered clothing, too destroyed to be salvaged. But sometimes things weren’t so bad. The people were responding to the new standards set by their royal family, and were relieved to discover their royals were just as uncomfortable with some of the changes as they had been.

Dale started to come into its own. And so did her people.

* * *

“You’re sure about this, Thranduil?”

“Yes. I have my own retreats, as you have yours, I wager.” Thranduil said, eyeing his companion, who sighed and nodded his head.

“Don’t all who lead?” he replied, a small smirk on his face. “It shall be done.”

“My thanks.”

“Your gold.” Thranduil laughed in response and bowed his head in agreement.

“Of course, Dain. You know I would not be folly enough to barter favours with you.”

“Good.” Dain sighed, a frown marring his face. "Just the one building, then?"

"Yes, just the one. The rest of Lake Town can be built in whatever fashion the Lake Towners wish."

"Very well. I shall send word when construction is complete."

"Thank you." 

"No, thank  _you,_ Thranduil." Dain smirked, causing Thranduil to roll his eyes. 

"Yes, I know. My gold. Is that all you dwarves ever think about?"

"No. Sometimes we think about ale, and food." 

"Mm, we elves think about those things too, only substitute ale with wine."

"Of course. I think we may have a barrel somewhere?"

"Do I have to pay gold for it?"

"Not this time." 

"Excellent. Lead the way." 


End file.
